Point of Origin
by RavenHeart101
Summary: Puck's been waiting for that big case for ages. Only now that he's got it, it may turn out to be more than he expected when he must confront murderers, thieves, and a corrupt District Attorney while balancing a romance with her attractive ADA, Blaine.
1. Chapter 1

Point of Origin

By: RavenHeart101

Disclaimer: By putting that word here I am disclaiming ownership of anything Glee related. Besides what I've bought. Cuz, you know, if I owned the show, Plaine would be canon.

Summary: Puck's been waiting for that big case for ages. Only now that he's got it, it may turn out to be more than he expected when he must confront murderers, thieves, and a corrupt District Attorney while balancing a romance with her very attractive ADA, Blaine Anderson.

**A:N** – Thank Tumblr people. You all better review your asses off.

* * *

**Three Years Ago**

* * *

The car was crap. The suit was crap. Generally, everything that came with the job "Private Investigator" was crap up until a PI would get a good case. And, up until now, Noah Puckerman had yet to get a good case.

His job was usually trailing after cheating husbands or cheating wives or the occasional cheating prostitute. There really wasn't anything dazzling about his job.

Not yet, anyway.

Puck sighed and threw his jacket over the back of the bar chair, collapsing into it unceremoniously and, letting his head fall into his hands.

Sometimes Puck honestly couldn't help wondering what life would have been like if he had taken that job offered to him by the NYPD back in the day instead of going for his Private Investigator License. Surly his job would have been more entertaining and fulfilling than the one he had now.

He snorted, looking over at the cops huddled in the corner of the bar over the top of his drink, his eyes narrowing at one Detective Sebastian Smythe and his "date" of the night. Or what seemed like his date of the night. There was his mark (the Detective not his so called date).

Puck didn't really make a habit of getting to know why he was tailing the people he was hired to tail. He just did it. Maybe that was why those were the only jobs he got but he figured he was good at it. And it honestly wasn't the worst job in the world so he wasn't about to complain.

The cop corner let out a loud barking laugh, and Puck felt his eyes narrow just a little bit more at them as the bartender, a good friend of his actually, sauntered over to him with a scowl on her face. "Which one you tailing?" Santana asked with a snap of her gum, wiping the rag against the counter top in front of him.

Santana was a gorgeous woman, truly. Sadly, Puck was no where on her radar, what with her being lesbian and all. They had been a thing back in their high school years but it really was no surprise to him that they hadn't worked out. All Santana had talked about when they were together was her current girl on the side, Brittany Pierce. And then she came out and was publicly dating Brittany and Puck was narrowing his sights in on getting the hell out of small town Ohio and into somewhere he could make it.

He hadn't exactly made it yet but he was working on that.

"Meerkat." He nodded in the direction of Detective Smythe as the guy leaned forward and placed his hand dangerously high to his "date". Who didn't seem as interested as the good Detective seemed to want him to be, pushing the hand off his leg and rolling his eyes, shuffling closer, almost blindly, to Detective Cooper Anderson. Wasn't that an interesting find.

Not as though it wasn't everyday that people turned down Detective Smythe for his better looking (at least in Puck's eyes) partner on the force. But it was still interesting.

Detective Smythe had come to the bar with his "date", not Detective Anderson. So why was it that he would come to the bar, put the moves on, and then the guy totally blow him off as though it was an everyday occurrence?

Santana let out a chuckle, slapping him with her towel and leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "I can assure you that Meerkat isn't getting any from that front anytime soon."

He looked at her for a moment, raising an eyebrow as she leaned back and winked at him, her gum snapping in her mouth. She nodded in the direction of the cop corner again, and Puck's eyes wandered back over to where Detective Smythe's "date" was saying something to Detective Anderson in a quiet manner, his eyes constantly shifting back to Detective Smythe almost cautiously. He noted the protective arm that Detective Anderson had over the back of the date's chair and the way that he leaned his head close but not close enough to really bother anyone. And he also noted how none of the other cops in the cop corner besides Detective Smythe were giving them any notice. "So the date's with Free Credit?"

Santana smirked at him. "Better." She leaned closer again, sliding a business card towards him. "Date's a lawyer."

"And dating Free Credit when Meerkat wants him?" Puck couldn't help the small smile of triumph that came over his face. He hadn't been doing this job for long but he still loved every second things started to fall into place. There was some sort of cheep thrill that he got whenever he got to witness what was sure to get him paid. "Guy sure knows how to get around."

Santana shrugged, taking the glass of the guy sitting next to him and refilling it with a flick of her wrist, casually ignoring his attempt to come onto her. She leaned her elbows back against the bar to talk to him, knowingly giving the guys on the other end of the bar a nice view of her ass. "I don't blame him, you know." She rolled her eyes as Detective Smythe made another move. "Meerkat doesn't seem to know when to lay off."

Puck shrugged, throwing back a sip of his drink and eying the cop corner again. "Either way I'm getting what I need to get tonight, getting paid and buying a new couch."

"I can drink to that." Santana raised a glass in his direction, their glasses clinking and the two of them taking a long sip before Puck slammed the glass back onto the counter, threw a twenty on the wood and saluted in a goodbye, making his way over to cop corner.

He walked with an arrogance that came from being a star football player and one of the only few to make it out of shit town Lima, Ohio. Puck kept a cocky smirk over his face as he walked towards his mark, fishing in his coat pocket for his ID and preparing himself to flash it in Detective Smythe's face.

It wasn't that he hated Detective Smythe or anything. He had nothing against the guy – as far as Puck was concerned the guy did his job and it honestly didn't interest him how many guys the good Detective bedded in a week. But it did interest the person who hired him and Puck really needed that new couch in the office.

"Well if it isn't Fuckerman." One of the other detectives - Detective Karofsky - with a tiny laugh once he noticed Puck walking towards them. "I'm sorry I mean Puckerman." Detective Karofsky winked at him, patting him on the back roughly and making his way over to the bar with a raunchy laugh.

Puck winked back at him, nodding in his direction and raising a hand in the general area of the cop corner that was actually occupied by people Puck liked – people he may have even respected and considered friends once-upon-a-time. People like Detective Rutherford, and Detective Evans, and Detective Hudson, and stunning Defense Attorney Quinn Fabray. "How can I help you, Puckerman?" Detective Smythe asked him evenly, a small predatory glint in his eye as Anderson whispered a bit frantically with the guy who was so obviously not Smythe's date. Hand motions and all.

"You can tell me how many guys you've done in the passed week." Puck decided to try the most forward way he knew how to investigate, simply asking the question.

Smythe studied him for a moment before letting out a chuckle and swinging back his drink, placing a finger on Puck's chest. "I've been as dry as a desert this week, PI."

Puck raised an eyebrow at him, smirking at bit and noting the small twitch on the good detective's face, marking the fact that he was bluffing. "Well I know you haven't bed him." He nodded in the direction of Anderson and the guy he was... hugging tightly now, a wide smile on his face.

Smythe rolled his eyes. "I just haven't broken him yet." He winked at Puck, leaning back against the bar. "So I'm your newest target? Who hired you?"

"Beats me." And it honestly did beat Puck. This person had been anonymous all the way. "How many have you bedded?"

"More than you have in your life time." Smythe crossed his arms over his chest, laughing at the unamused look on Puck's face. "Seriously, who wants to know?"

"Seriously, I have no fucking clue." Puck retorted with a dry voice, noting how Smythe's eyes were floating back to Anderson and the guy that were now drinking what Puck could have only guessed were celebratory drinks. "Who's he?" He tried another tactic, nodding at the guy who had come to the bar with Smythe and Anderson.

Smythe's face soured for a moment. "A prude lawyer with a stick up his ass." He sighed wistfully. "But damn is he hot." He didn't bother hiding when his eyes settled on the guy's ass when he bent over to get his phone from his jacket pocket on the back of Anderson's chair. "I bet he'd be a great lay."

People seriously talked like that? Cops seriously talked like that?

Puck rolled his eyes, shaking his head slowly, before clearing his throat and regaining Smythe's attention. "What's he to you?"

Smythe shrugged. "A one nighter."

"Why not settle down?"

"Why settle down when I can spread the love?"

"Because you have HIV and aren't using a damn condom." And sure Puck hadn't exactly known if he was right or not but he figured if he was wrong than he would get the punched in the face or some odd look. Instead he got a face full of meerkat and a hand fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer. So he had guessed right. Awesome.

"How the fuck did you know?" Smythe's voice was deathly quiet and his eyes blazed with anger and fear and Puck actually felt for the guy.

"You just told me." And then Smythe's face fell into something short of shock and he dropped his grip on Puck's shirt. "That's all I needed."

Now was when Puck really hated his job. Because, really, he didn't want to ruin Smythe's life, and seeing the way he had sunk into the bar stool all dejected like only proved to him that his job sucked sometimes. Most of the time.

Being a Private Investigator didn't always rake in the honestly good money like television and movies and books made it seem. Sometimes it really fucking sucked.

"Sorry." A soft, breathless voice said as a shoulder bumped into his own. Smythe's date was standing behind him, his jacket slung over his arm, Anderson's arm over his shoulders. Puck was momentarily frozen in amazement because Smythe hadn't been lying when he said that he was hot. He was certainly something else.

All prim and proper and not really the kind of guy Puck would have gone for. His hair was too busy struggling to get free of gel helmet, his blue bow-tie was tacky, his white dress shirt was pristine, and his black dress pants just added to the ensemble.

It was the eyes that did it for him.

Sparkling, kind, unique hazel. They stunned him to no end and Puck could have sworn his breath ran out of him for a moment.

"It's okay." He said in a daze, offering Smythe's date a smile. A real, honest-to-God smile, dimples pulling a bit at the corners of his chin.

Smythe's date smiled back at him, yelling a thank you over his shoulder when Puck held the door open for him and Anderson. Puck couldn't help the small fall of his heart when he noted the arm that was around Anderson's waist as they walked down the street.

No one like that would ever make it with him.

* * *

**Now**

* * *

"Good morning, Noah." Rachel smiled perkily at him, her brown eyes sparkling and her voice way too energetic for seven in the morning.

Puck grunted a response at her, throwing his jacket in her general direction and pushing the door to his office open with a dejected sigh. He had gotten next to no sleep the night before, thanks to the case he had just finished up. He collapsed into his chair, thankfully resting his head on his crossed arms as Rachel pattered into the room, her heals clinking against the hardwood.

A steaming cup of tea found its way in front of his face and Puck sniffed at it gratefully, pushing head up to stare at the foam container, willing it to go towards his outstretched hand. When that didn't work he was more than happy to stare at his secretary until she placed it in the limb herself with a roll of her eyes.

Rachel plopped down on top of his desk and he glared at her for a second before remembering that it was something that the two of them did to each other's desks all the time and if he made her stop than she would surly make him stop. And that wasn't what Puck wanted at all because it was sort of fun to sit on Rachel's desk during their lunch break.

"What have you got for me, Rachel?" He mumbled, swinging back a gulp of the hot tea, wincing at the taste. Rachel was up to her experimenting ways again, it seemed.

Rachel stared at him for a moment, judging his reaction. "Too strong?"

"Too... minty." He put the cup back onto his desk trying to ignore the way his stomach reeled at the thought of taking another sip.

Her face fell for a moment before perking up again and she reached down to pick up whatever she had left on the ground. Because Rachel always seemed to be leaving stuff on the ground. Something about "dramatic effect". "Here." She placed another Styrofoam cup on his desk and Puck resisted the urge to run as far away from the offended cup as possible.

"Rachel-"

"This one's relatively normal. Promise."

"It's the relatively that worries me." Yet he still accepted the cup, taking a small sip from the cup and sighing happily when he realized that it was simply green tea with a hint of vanilla. Just the way he liked it. "So what have you got for me?" He kicked his feet up onto the desk, leaning is chair back on two legs and Rachel put down her own cup and picked up a file, opening it to the first page.

"Well you have this case from Mister Sandy Ryerson asking you to stalk Josh Groban." Rachel looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Again? What the fuck." Puck took the file from her throwing it in the recycle bin near the door.

Rachel let out a tiny cluck of amusement and annoyance before opening the other file in her hands. "Then you have one from an... anonymous." Rachel blinked down at the page, flicking it open so that Puck could see it. "Looks more interesting than scary Sandy's case."

Puck leaned forward, eagerly gripping the file she handed out to him. "Yes... yes it does."

His eyes scanned down the email hungrily, the tea in his system and the fact that he had received yet another anonymous case energizing him more than he would care to admit:

_10:45am. Starbucks on Central. Fifth table to the right. _

_Take pictures. _

_$5,000 will be yours if done right. _

Puck remembered the last time he had gotten a message like this. He had exposed a child smuggling ring. It was that case that had been his big break in the Private Investigator career. And it was the only break he had ever gotten during his career and now that the luxury of that case was wearing off Puck needed to get some more groundbreaking cases if he wanted to stay open.

And if he wanted to keep Rachel and himself employed.

"You going to do it?" She asked apprehensively, absentmindedly scrolling through her contacts on her phone.

"Sure." Puck shrugged. "It's probably just some guy wanting me to spy on their wife or husband. Or some shit like that."

Rachel rolled her eyes at him, flopping off his desk and dancing, legit dancing, out of his office. "I'll leave you to your beauty sleep then, Puckerman." She winked at him as she closed the door to his office. And, now that she had said it, sleep seemed like a wonderful idea.

Puck leaned forward and let his eyes drift closed, willing himself into the land of oblivion. Especially since he apparently had a night out with Santana today that he had never been told about.

His phone beeped, and Puck jumped. Who in the world would be emailing him at this time of the day? It was probably some spam message but he fished his phone out of his pocket anyway. It could be his mother for all he knew. Or Santana canceling. Oh how much he wanted her to cancel.

A picture message from a number he didn't recognize planted itself on his screen. Puck's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer, picking up the file on his desk and scanning the email address listed on the vague directions. He glanced back at the email on his phone, realizing in a fast moment that they were the same email.

Something was telling him this wasn't a simple "spy on my wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend" case like he had originally thought.

Briefly Puck considered calling in Rachel but he dismissed that idea quickly enough, pressing the picture file open with a deep breath, preparing himself for what was there.

His eyes widened in confusion at the picture. A blurb from a newspaper was photographed, certain words highlighted and a man circled in the picture above the text. He scrolled down, wondering if the picture was one of good enough quality to zoom in, jumping when his phone dinged again, another message from the same email address filtering in.

_B2. _

That must be the newspaper article. Or they were playing some weird game of Bingo. He figured the newspaper article was the most likely option. "Rachel!" He called out, standing up and pushing his way through his office door as she perked up from her spot at her own desk at the front of their small business space. "Do we have a newspaper anywhere?"

Rachel nodded slowly, passing him the paper she had been reading earlier. "Why? What's going on?" He tossed her his phone, realizing almost a second later that Rachel had little to no hand eye co-ordination and would probably drop his phone. But he was must too distracted at that moment to honestly pay her any mind, flipping open the newspaper to the page that was designated and nearly gagging on his own tongue.

**Defense Attorney Charged With Murder!**

_Defense Attorney Quinn Fabray was brought in by the police the other day to be brought up on charges of the murder of rumored boyfriend Daniel Lounder. "He was abusive and homophobic," says close friend bartender Santana Lopez. "Quinn didn't do anything but defend herself." The police report seems to say otherwise, however. _

_The case is scheduled to be brought up in court later this week._

"Shit." Puck grabbed his phone out of Rachel's outstretched hand, ripping his jacket off the hook and running out the office door, all the while pressing speed dial 4 for Santana's number.

"Hola." Santana answered quick enough, but her usual snapping voice sounded drained of all emotion.

"Hey." He walked over to his car door, throwing it open and sliding into the front seat with ease. "I just read the news. Q was arrested?"

"Yeah." He heard Santana throw something in frustration. "I don't get it, Puck. She didn't do shit! There's no evidence against her!"

"How do you know that, Santana?" And he really really hoped that she had some sort of concrete answer because there was no way that Quinn had killed anyone. That was just all types of crazy insane.

He threw his car into drive, pulling out on the busy New York streets with a practiced ease. When he had first moved here he wouldn't have dared drive in fear of his own life, but with age came wisdom and Puck had somehow learned all the tricks to living in a place like New York. "I just do."

"How? Was she with you?" Because Puck wasn't stupid and he knew Santana and Quinn had a thing going on but he wasn't about to shove it in their faces when they weren't ready for the whole fucking world to know. Too bad it might be too late for that.

"No." Santana muttered, sighing loudly, the springs on her couch bouncing underneath her body weight. "I'm just telling you Puckerman. She wouldn't do this."

"I know." Puck said softly, turning onto a side street and then pulling back onto the main road, closer to the police station than he would have gotten had he stayed on the cluttered streets. "I'm going to be at the station in two minutes. Tell her to rela-"

"She's meeting with the District Attorney." Santana said dryly and with a bit of malice in her voice. "Apparently the case is huge because Lounder was a state police officer."

"Damn it." Puck cursed under his breath. "I'll call you the moment I get out, Santana. I'll try my best to... do _something_."

"You better, Puckerman." He knew that was Santana's way of saying thank you so he didn't bother saying anything else, hanging up his phone and throwing it in the passenger's seat as he pulled up to the building.

It was graying building, showing it's age well through the coloring of the walls. A large statue of an eagle sat in the middle of the staircase and Puck wasted no time, pushing his way through the clear glass doors. "Fuckerman." Detective Karofsky said with a smirk in his direction. But Puck paid him no mind, strolling right up to the service desk.

"Quinn Fabray. What room is she in?" Puck demanded, knowing they put the rookies on this sort of job just because it was easier for them.

The rookie stared at him blankly for a moment before recognition clouded his eyes. "I-I'm sorry mister Puckerman, sir, but I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."

"You don't understand, kid." Puck stressed, leaning closer. "I need to make sure she's okay."

"I can check with my superior, if you'd like sir."

"I'd like that very much." Puck spit out. God he hated rookies.

He turned around when the kid typed in the phone number for his superior officer, stuffing his hands in his pockets and running a hand through his nearly non-existent hair. The elevator dinged and an old lady waddled out, a scowl on her face as she sneered at Detective Karofsky before stomping out the doors.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Puck turned to face them unintentionally. "Jackpot." He muttered under his breath when his eyes landed on the District Attorney Shelby Corcoran waltzing down the stairs, her ADA falling into step beside her with purpose. Puck kept a safe distance back, far enough back so that he could hear everything that was being said, but not close enough where he would be noticed easily as anything more than a bystander. "All the evidence is pointing towards her." Shelby said with a shrug, her dark hair rippling down her shoulders as they stepped off the staircase.

Her ADA frowned and gripped the case he was holding in her hand tighter. Puck couldn't stop the jump of his heart when he recognized him from a night in Santana's bar not three years ago. Detective Smythe and Anderson's little boy toy. Or something. He was pretty sure that didn't make sense anymore since Anderson was married to a _woman_ but his point still somewhat stood. This man... that man that he had maintained some sort of fantasy about was standing right there. Was the _Assistant District Attorney_. Worked for _Shelby Corcoran_.

Yeah Puck never would have had a chance with him. "_None_ of the evidence is pointing towards her and you know that Shelby." The ADA stressed, frustration clear in his voice.

Puck froze, his eyes narrowing. It was obvious they were talking about Quinn. Who else would they be talking about? "You know what the evidence says, Blaine."

"And the evidence is bogus! It will never hold up in court and you know it. Why are you following through with this?" They stopped at the elevator, the ADA – Blaine – standing in Shelby's way of pressing the button to get on the metal contraption. "What do you know that you aren't tell me?"

Shelby studied him for a moment, a long moment, before her features hardened. "You don't get to have a say in whether we prosecute or not, Anderson. It'd be best that you remember that if you want to keep your job."

Puck watched as Blaine's mouth set into a thin line and he slowly backed down. He watched as Blaine stepped away from the elevator and Shelby pressed the button and walked in herself. She turned back to face him. "Are you coming with me?"

"No." Blaine shook his head, looking away from her gaze and down the hallway for a moment. "Cooper's taking me out for breakfast."

Shelby smiled brightly at him. "Well have a good time. Be back before eleven. We have case files to go over. Especially if you are to bring this case to court." She stared at him a moment longer, her hand keeping the elevator doors from closing. "This could be the case to make your career, Blaine. Don't screw that up."

The elevator doors swung shut and Puck opened his mouth to call out to the ADA. "Hey!" And then Blaine was snapping out of whatever stupor he was in, turning towards Detective Anderson with a smile on his face. "You ready for breakfast, little brother?" And why hadn't Puck seen it before? They were related. Of course they were related. He felt like smacking himself in the face until it struck him that it was odd that it mattered whether they were related or not.

Anderson's arm slid over Blaine's shoulder's, leading him down the hallway at the same time a loud scream filled the air. A scream that Puck could really only connect to one person.

Quinn Fabray.

* * *

**A: N – **Uh... yeah. New challenge fic. Be on the lookout for chapter two some time tomorrow/later today. READ AND REVIEW? What do you all thiiiink?

Pleeeeeeease?


	2. Chapter 2

Point of Origin

By: RavenHeart101

Disclaimer: By putting that word here I am disclaiming ownership of anything Glee related. Besides what I've bought. Cuz, you know, if I owned the show, Plaine would be canon.

Summary: Puck's been waiting for that big case for ages. Only now that he's got it, it may turn out to be more than he expected when he must confront murderers, thieves, and a corrupt District Attorney while balancing a romance with her very attractive ADA, Blaine Anderson.

**A:N** – WHERE DID YOU ALL COME FROM?

* * *

Puck wasn't usually one to jump to conclusions, it was against his nature and it was a trait that he learned a long time ago got no one anywhere. But he couldn't stop the way his brain automatically shot to the worst possible scenario when it came to hearing Quinn scream like that.

Puck hated screaming. He despised it. He despised doing it and he despised hearing it. He couldn't really tell anyone why that was so, it just was. It hurt his ears and he would, without a doubt, spring into action to help the person screaming. It was as though it was part of his muscle memory.

So when he heard Quinn scream – when he heard her scream like that – he couldn't help the way his heart quickened and his feet propelled him towards the room where the noise was coming from.

He pushed past the officers standing in front of the entrance, ignoring the indignant and forceful voices telling him that he was not – under any circumstances – allowed into the cell.

Quinn had scrambled into the corner of the small holding cell, her blue eyes wide and sparkling, a trembling hand suspended over her mouth as her cell mate convulsed in the middle of the floor. Her cell mate was familiar, but Puck didn't know from where, her eyes rolled back into her head, a small amount of foam forming at the corner of her lips. But Puck honestly didn't have time to worry about her, rushing over to Quinn, gripping her arms in his tight grip and hugging her tightly against his chest as though to shield her from the view.

"We need a bus!" Puck's head snapped up, his eyes settling on Evans, kneeling down beside the convulsing girl a safe distance away.

"What's going on?" He glanced to the right, noticing how Blaine stood off the side, Anderson blocking him from view, his hands gripping his arms tightly and his body moving to block each step the younger of the two took. So Puck wasn't the only one intent upon protecting someone from the view. Good to know.

Anderson didn't answer. Or at least he didn't answer in a way that Puck could hear. But he did see Blaine's eyes widen and his face grow pale in the dim police department lighting. He did see Blaine's eyes shoot over to the way Quinn was clinging to him in shock and worry and something close to devastation (because even if Quinn was cold hearted she did have a heart). He did see his gaze soften and he did see him turn away from the scene and stride down the hall with a determined step.  
And he didn't know why but he made sure Quinn was okay before he ran out of the cell and down the hall after him. Blaine was pressing the button to the elevator when Puck skidded to a halt behind him. "You know something." Puck stated breathlessly (because Blaine sure as hell walked faster than Puck had expected).

Blaine glanced at him from the corner of his eye before his gaze fell centered on the elevator once more. "I have no idea what you're talking about." And if Puck knew the situation any better he would say that Blaine was being coy. Only he didn't.

The doors dinged, opening slowly and Blaine took a step into them, Puck following suit with only a small glance behind him at where Anderson was staring at him with something akin to warning. Puck smirked at him, waving as the doors closed. "You know what I'm talking about. The same way I know you know something."

"Of course." Blaine smiled a bit sardonically, turning to face him and, whoa... eyes. Puck blinked a few times, raising an eyebrow and allowing a cocky smirk to pull at his face. Blaine imitated the movement, his arms crossing in front of his chest. "And who are you?"

Puck's smirk stayed strong over his face as his hand reached into his wallet to pull out his business card. "Noah Puckerman. Private Investigator." He handed over the card, silently enjoying the curiosity on Blaine's face as he accepted it readily.

"I'm assuming you already know who I am." Blaine slid the card into his front pants pocket, crossing his hands in front of himself and staring at Puck for a long moment. It should have been unnerving – it _would_ have been unnerving if it were anyone else – but all Puck could feel was a sort of relaxed curiosity. "Believe me I don't want your friend going to jail."

"My friend?" Puck said as Blaine turned back to the face the elevator door. "How'd you know she's my friend?"

"She mentioned you." Blaine shrugged, a small smirk on his face. "And you don't have a visitors pass. And Cooper didn't mention your name once so... I guessed."

"Cooper? Your brother?"

"Mhm." Blaine shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. "What else would he be?"

"Bo-"

"And if you say boyfriend I'm going to have to sue you." Blaine spoke dryly, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "Everyone thinks we're dating at first. It's annoying."

"Why?" And didn't Puck have a legitimate reason for following him?

"Because he's really not my type."

"What's your type?"

Blaine looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow, a tiny smirk on his face. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Puck ignored the way his cheeks seemed to involuntarily redden. He didn't blush. Puck hadn't blushed since he was four and Santana's older sister had given them the sex talk using Barbies. "I would." Puck smiled at him and they descended into a mutual silence, the elevator playing some classical music in the background as a soft back drop. "Wait." Puck shook his head. How could he have forgotten? Stay focused Puckerman."That wasn't what we were talking about." Blaine raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you know?"

"Nothing that I can, or would, tell you." Blaine supplied unhelpfully, sighing when the doors slid open to allow him to leave. "Listen... Noah I don't believe your friend killed that man in anything more than self defense – if that. But it's not up to me if we prosecute or not. And the longer we spend in here talking the more time the police have to find evidence that she did." He stressed and Puck knew where he was going with this. "Now if you somehow manage to find anything that could reasonably implicate someone else I am all ears." And _now_ he was pulling out a business card and handing it to Puck before turning on his heel and strolling out into the parking garage, his suit jacket blowing in the wind, his dress shoes banging on the concrete, and the wind picking his hair up a bit before dropping it back onto his head.

Puck let the doors close and pressed the button for the floor he had been previously on, running his thumb over the plain business card in his hand.

_Blaine Anderson, Assistant District Attorney for the State of New York_

He slid the card into his pocket. So the very person who was supposed to be prosecuting the case didn't even believe that the police had enough evidence to arrest Quinn. So why was she arrested? Puck had a feeling that this had turned into something bigger than he had ever expected.

* * *

Quinn had been relocated to another cell by the time Puck had managed to convince one of the higher ups into letting him speak with her. He only had ten minutes, but, if anything, that was all Puck needed.

She was curled in on herself, running her finger over the tattoo she had on the inner of her left wrist. _Beth_ was written in curling letters, a flower hanging over the name. Puck knew the significance, and he also knew that it was a rough thing to bring up at a time like this so he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Her short blonde hair was a mess and her makeup was a bit runny but Puck thought she looked beautiful and real. "Hey." He nodded at her, walking over to the bed she was curled on, placing his hand on her foot and watching as she visibly made herself presentable.

She straightened and smiled at him, her lips wobbling for a moment before settling on her face with a strength that Puck wasn't sure anyone could have in that type of situation but Quinn Fabray. "Hi." She looked down before her eyes found his and a frown pulled at her lips. "Be honest... how screwed am I?"

"Pretty screwed." Puck sighed, standing up and crossing over to the other side of the cell, his arms planted firmly over his chest and thoughts racing through his mind. "What evidence do they have on you?"

"Nothing that they can build a case on." Quinn said expertly.

"So why are you here?"

"I don't know." Puck narrowed his eyes at her.

"Why do you think you're here?"

That seemed to be the right question. Quinn tilted her head to the side, her short hair brushing in front of her eyes for a moment before her hand moved the locks behind her ear. "I may have pissed some people off with my newest case."

"What's that case, Q?"

Her mouth drew into a tight line and she licked at her lips, her eyes falling away from his gaze. "I can't tell you."

"Quinn-"

"Not here." She shook her head, glancing out at the officers standing not too far away, leaning close, her perfume assaulting Puck's nostrils. Something fruity. Something distinctly Santana. "Get me out of here and I will tell you everything."

Puck pulled back with a frown. "I can't just _get_ you out of here Quinn."

Quinn's eyes searched his for a moment. "They don't have enough evidence. If they don't get it within twenty four hours I'm released. It's protocol." Her hand grasped his for a moment, and it was soft and cold and small and dainty. "Twenty four hours, Puck. Just keep them off my trail for twenty four hours."

Against his better judgment he nodded, squeezing her hand in his larger one and letting her pull him down for a hug. Puck didn't usually do hugs - at least not voluntarily. But this was a special occasion and Quinn looked like she really needed one. "I'll bring Santana around later this afternoon, okay?"

"Thank you, Puck." She held him tighter for a moment – and her embrace was so much like that of a mother that it nearly shocked Puck (and made him realize how much he missed his own mother back home in Ohio) – before letting him go, staring at him with shining eyes and patting at them delicately.

He smiled sadly at her, turning around and allowing himself to be lead out of the cell by Detective Hudson. "We still on for dinner next week, man?" Hudson asked half way down the hallway and, even though Puck had been having a pretty intense day, he agreed, fist bumping the officer before he walked out into the sunshine. He had a pretty good relationship with many of the Detectives in the NYPD. Maybe it was because he had gone to school to be one of them, or maybe it was because he had yet to have a case that really involved any of them (besides Smythe, but that was a long time ago). The only one that seemed to actively have a problem with him was Anderson but that was only about half the time and was a result of that one time where Puck out shot him one of the cases where the two groups (PI's and cops) mixed.

He squinted in the sunlight, maneuvering his way through the busy crowds, a hand over his eyes and his other hand fishing through his pocket for his car keys. The scent of coffee wafted towards him carried by the wind and his head snapped up, his eyes wide.

_The email. _

_ His case. _

Puck turned on the spot, looking for the street sign. Where was he supposed to take pictures from? Seventh? Central?

His eyes narrowed in on the fading blue street sign advertising that he was approximately a quarter mile from Central Street. The clock on the police station told him that he had two minutes to make it to the designated spot and he didn't pay it any second of thought before he was sprinting towards where the smell of coffee was coming from.

People on the street eyed him oddly for a moment before going back to their usual routines. It wasn't exactly out of the norm for people to be running down the sidewalks in New York (not that it was completely normal either but it was normal enough but people only spared him a passing glance). He skidded to a halt outside the tightly populated Starbucks, his eyes immediately falling onto the only familiar face in the crowd.

They were just settling down at the fifth table to the right, their briefcase down at their feet, their jacket resting over the back of their chair, a file open in front of them, and an almost relaxed and concentrated pose to their body.

Puck didn't know what to do because who ever the hell had hired him wanted him to spy on this man.

On the ADA for fucks sake.

* * *

Puck must have paced around the Starbucks for a total of ten minutes before his phone was vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out with a frustrated grumble, flicking it open and gaping at the message that stared at him.

_Every minute you put off your job the closer she gets to putting your friend in jail._

Puck's heart quickened and he glanced around himself at all the unsuspecting pedestrians elbowing passed him. Not paying him any mind.

Who in the world could be sending him this?

Absentmindedly he forwarded the message to Rachel, knowing that she'd understand that what he wanted was for her to use all of her charm to get the name of the person behind that number.

Blaine stood up, waving at someone on the other side of Starbucks, a wide smile on his face.

Puck's phone vibrated in his hand again.

_Do your job or he dies. _

Puck's face flushed and for a moment he wondered who "he" was. And then his brain caught up with him and _holy shit they had just threatened to kill the ADA_.

"Okay... I'll play along." _For now_. He made a show of slipping the digital camera he kept in his pocket out into the open and placing his phone in his jacket, stepping closer to the Starbucks and wandering over to the group of tourists on his left, pretending to be part of their group.

He was at the perfect vantage point, his body hidden behind a large statue of some hometown hero, tourists making him seem as though he weren't from the city. His sunglasses covered his eyes, making people around him unsure of exactly where it was that he was looking. It was perfect. And so it worked spectacularly to help Puck capture probably some of the most uneasy pictures that he had ever taken.

Blaine was sitting at the table with two other men, one of whom Puck recognized as Detective Rutherford, and the other he felt he _should_ know. He was leaning close to the one he didn't remember, his hand on his wrist and speaking in what seemed like determination, a wide smile spreading across his face. Puck couldn't help wondering what it was they were talking about because Blaine had a wonderful smile. But he shook that thought off quickly enough, raising the camera again to flash a few more pictures.

The man he didn't recognize stood up after a few more minutes, the light blue summer scarf he was wearing blowing a bit in the spring wind, his light gray jacket almost see-through now that Puck had a good view of it, his hair done in a perfect coif at the top of his head. He looked like a fashion model.

Blaine stood up, allowing the other man to hold onto both his hands for a second, looking down at the concrete, a bashful smile on his face, a blush painting his cheeks. They hugged (and Puck flashed a few dozen more pictures), the other man's arms around Blaine's neck and Blaine's arms around his waist.

It was a comfortable hug, and then they pulled away and Detective Rutherford was hugging Blaine for a few seconds one armed before letting go, the man Puck didn't recognize turning around and giving Blaine a kiss on the cheek (Blaine returning the favor), before walking away.

Puck lowed the camera slowly, watching as Blaine slumped back into his chair, staring forlornly at the closed file on the table in front of him.

"Hey, squirt!" Puck jumped at the familiar voice, but Blaine brightened. Anderson jogged over to his table, pulling a chair over next to him, his arm pulling Blaine into a tight (familial now that Puck really took the moment to look at it) hug. He knew Anderson noticed the way Blaine pushed the file off the side, his coffee cup finding it's way to sit on top of it to keep it from blowing away.

Puck's phone vibrated against his side, and he slipped it out, replacing it with his camera in his jacket.

_Email them by 5 to the email the case was sent in by. _

Just who did this person think they were? Puck didn't do orders like this. He didn't simply follow them blindly. They had nothing on him to make him do anything.

_ Any later and the threat still stands. _

Besides that.

* * *

** A: N-** And that is chapter two. Chapter three will be up, hopefully, later tonight. Be on the lookout! :D


	3. Chapter 3

Point of Origin

By: RavenHeart101

Disclaimer: By putting that word here I am disclaiming ownership of anything Glee related. Besides what I've bought. Cuz, you know, if I owned the show, Plaine would be canon.

Summary: Puck's been waiting for that big case for ages. Only now that he's got it, it may turn out to be more than he expected when he must confront murderers, thieves, and a corrupt District Attorney while balancing a romance with her very attractive ADA, Blaine Anderson.

**A: N –** Two chapters in one day because I'm awesome like that. :)

* * *

By the time Puck had made it back to the office there was a total of three cars waiting outside the building, one of which was Rachel's, a green convertible buggy was Santana's, and a big truck that belonged to none other than their good friend Mike Chang. But Puck honestly didn't have much time to worry about why Mike was visiting now because the _ADA had just have his life threatened_. Someone had just _threatened another person's life_ and for some odd reason Puck fully believed that who ever was texting him – _emailing him, sending him cases_ – would follow through on their threat.

He pushed open the glass door proclaiming: _Noah Puckerman – Private Investigator_ in it's big black letters, ignoring Mike and Santana lounging across from Rachel and walked right over to her desk, planting his hands on it firmly. "Tell me you have something on that number, Berry or so help me I will curse you to Jewish hell."

"Christianity and Judaism have the same hell, Noah." Rachel pointed out sternly, a small glint of punishment in her eyes and her pen tapping against the keyboard in front of her. No doubt tapping out a tune to some obscure Broadway hit. "But, sadly, I couldn't find anything on your mysterious text message-er besides that they're very smart with electronics."

She sounded so disappointed in herself, her face falling a bit at the realization that she actually hadn't gotten as far as she had hoped. Rachel hated disappointing herself more than she hated disappointing others. Puck let his head drop, a loud sigh pulling from his lips and a swear falling from his mouth. "No worries." Mike chimed in, a smile in his voice despite the severity of the situation (which he obviously didn't know besides maybe the fact that Quinn was in jail for a crime she hadn't committed – _hopefully_ hadn't committed). "That's why I'm here." He patted Puck's back, strolling around to Rachel's computer and pushing her out of the way with a gentle touch of his hand. "I need your phone."

Puck handed it over quick enough, staring as Mike accepted the phone with a determined hand, scrolling through until he found the text messages. He looked up at Puck as he read them. "Can you figure out who it is?"

"You should go to the police, Puck." Mike cautioned.

"Can you get what I need, Mike?"

"Yeah." Mike nodded slowly. "But it'll take awhile."

"You have until four." Puck turned on his heel, marching into his office and gesturing for Santana to follow him. The woman followed quick enough, her feet leading her into the small space, her body leaning against his desk as he fell into his chair and pulled out his camera, inserting the memory card and waiting for his computer to register the action. "Sit down."

"Do I take orders?" Santana asked dryly, an eyebrow raised at him, his brown eyes staring at her blankly until she sat down in the chair across from his desk. "How was Quinn?"

"Surviving." Puck supplied, his eyes glued to his computer screen as the file popped up with the pictures.

"What are you looking at?" Santana asked curiously, with a hint of frustration in her voice.

Puck left the file open, but turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest and his body leaning back in his chair. "Who has it out for Quinn?"

Santana blinked at him, taken aback for a moment. "Plenty of people. She's a defense attorney, no one particularly likes her."

"Who has it out for her enough to want her in jail?" Puck specified.

"No one." Santana answered seriously, her own arms crossing over her chest.

"She told me she was working this case. That it may have something to do with why she's been arrested. Any idea what case?"

"No." Santana bit on her thumb nail.

"I have twenty four hours to get evidence that someone else may have killed that cop."

They were silent for a long moment, echoes of Mike's typing filling the small room with some tones of noise. "I could have." Santana spoke slowly, looking up at Puck through her lashes.

"No." Puck didn't even spare it any thought. "Absolutely not."

Santana huffed, a devious smile forming on her face. "No, but think about it." Her hair fell in front of her eyes. "Say I started a relationship with Quinn before she broke it off with the guy. Say that I overheard one of his abusive rants. Say I got a bit protective and stormed into that office all Dean Winchester style and killed the guy."

"_Santana_..."

"There doesn't _have _to be evidence." Santana stressed, leaning even farther still, her breasts pressing against the wood on his desk. "Just reasonable doubt."

"And enough reasonable doubt can lead you to jail." Puck shot back. "I'm not doing it. It's a stupid idea and it will _not_ end well."

"You don't then I will."

"Oh fuck you Santana." He ignored her indignant frown and stood up. "If you want to see Quinn again you'll stay as far away from this case as you can. You don't want to piss off the people trying her case. Get her a good lawyer. Be a character witness. But there is _nothing else you can do_."

"I can help you." Santana tried to no avail, sitting back in her seat with a frustrated huff when he shook his head no firmly before sitting back down. Silence descended again. "What are you making Mike do?"

Puck was hoping that the curiosity that Santana naturally had wouldn't show up before he had the answers. "Just a case I'm on."

"You never call Mike in if it's just a case." Santana pointed out with a roll of her eyes. "The last time you called him in you were in some hot water... so why did you call him in? Are you in trouble?"

If Puck hadn't known Santana for so long her concern would be unseen. But since he had he noticed the small uplift of her voice as she examined her nails in a mask of boredom. "Not yet." He said seriously, turning back to his computer and staring at the pictures in worry.

Why did they want him to take pictures of _this_? There was nothing special about this. They were simply three friends meeting up for a quick hello. They probably hadn't even meant to run into one another.

"Puck!" They jumped at Rachel's concerned voice – overly dramatic per usual, the two of them nearly flying out of their seats.

"What?" Puck almost ripped the door off it's hinges, his eyes darting from Mike to Rachel to Mike again until his phone was tossed to him. He caught it easily, startled at the message that was staring up at him.

"You got a new one." Mike said, his hands stilling over the keyboard and his green eyes raising to Puck. All occupants were silent as Puck read the message with a shaking hand.

_Outside the court house. 2:30pm. Today. Be there._

He read it aloud, ignoring Santana's Spanish curse and Rachel's rapidly paling face. "Do you have anything concrete yet?"

"No." Mike shook his head slowly. "This guy's good. But I'll get him. I just need some time."

"Get it done before four Mike." Puck glanced up at the clock, cursing under his breath when it showed him that it was already eleven thirty. He grabbed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder and turning to run out the door.

"You're going?" Rachel shrilled, her eyes wide.

"I'm coming with." Santana made to follow but Puck's stern look stopped her.

"Get Quinn a damn good lawyer, Santana." He grabbed the door handle. "I'll call you as soon as I can, Rachel." He nodded at his secretary (business partner, fellow Jew... office girl...), running out the door and down to his car.

The court house was a good half hour away and traffic was pretty bad for this time of day.

God he hoped he got there on time.

For whatever the hell it was they wanted him to be there for.

* * *

By the time Puck made it to the court house it was 2:28 in the afternoon and a case must have just been released because a swarm of people were filing down the stairs. Reporters stood off to the side, one of whom was talking to Shelby Corcoran, another who was talking to who Puck assumed was the defense attorney.

Why_ here?_

Puck stepped out of his car, staring at the people passing by him in apprehension. Something was going to happen. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you stalking me, PI?" He jumped a bit at the familiar voice, turning around to face the ADA. A curious smile was on Blaine's face as he made his way to stand in front of Puck, his arms crossed over his chest and his briefcase clutched tightly – and yet lazily – in his hand. His hazel eyes sparkled and Puck couldn't help the smile that crossed over his face at the same time.

"Do you want me to stalk you?" He asked in way of answered, his stomach gaining a small tingle when Blaine simply smiled wider at him, a small laugh falling from his lips.

"I've definitely had less attractive stalkers before." Puck filed that information away from later, smirking at Blaine and nodding at the crowd leaving the court room.

"What case just finished up?" He asked absentmindedly (what what he hoped seemed absentmindedly), toying with the sleeve of his thin jacket.

Blaine followed his gaze, shrugging and moving to lean against Puck's car - his crappy car – and sending him a sideways glance. "The American Museum of Natural History case."

Puck remembered seeing that on the news. "Someone had stolen some..."

"Really historical piece of history, yeah." Blaine teased, nodding as the two of them descended into silence. He laughed a little, rubbing at the back of his neck and turning his head to look at Puck. "It was actually your friend's case."

Quinn's case? Puck allowed momentary confusion to cross over his face as his brain rushed to connect all of the pieces as well as they could. So far he was pulling up a lot of blanks. "Quinn had this case?"

Blaine nodded. "Yeah. She had a great case." He shrugged. "She dropped it a few months ago, though. So her client had to get a new lawyer but he didn't seem all too worried about it."

Puck leaned back against his car door in thought. Something seemed so completely off with this case... "How'd the court rule?"

"Mistrial." Blaine shook his head slowly. "I swear if Quinn didn't back out she would have had this case in the bag."

"You talk like you know her."

"We went to law school together." Blaine smiled a bit sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders and squinting at the sun. "And she's great at her job. I'm surprised our paths haven't crossed more often."

Puck made a noise in the back of his throat as his phone vibrated once more in his hand.

_Get in your car. Go home._

What? No orders to take pictures this time?

"Listen, I-"

"Too forward?" Blaine blushed a bit, biting his lip, his hazel eyes looking away from Puck's face and down at the concrete.

Puck stared at him in confusion. Too forward? "What?"

"I'm being too forward again, aren't I?" Blaine laughed, scratching at his neck, his blush intensifying. "Kurt's told me that it's a problem. I'm either too forward or completely oblivious."

"To what?"

"To people that I... like?" His voice turned up a bit at the end and realization dawned on his face, a blush forming even farther than before. "Oh my God. I am so sorry."

So he had been flirting before? Puck hadn't just made that up in his mind? "Don't be."

"But you don't even like me do you? I'm just that odd person who keeps showing up where ever you are." Blaine closed his eyes in an almost devastated manner. "Oh God I am so sorry. I always manage to do this."

"To work yourself into a craze?" Puck teased lightly, all thoughts of the text message out of his mind at the thought that this guy – _this guy_ who Puck was _still_ convinced he had _no_ chance with – thought he was attractive enough to try and pull out some moves.

"Make a fool of myself and assume things where they shouldn't be assumed." Blaine blushed even more. "I mean we just met today so who am I to even claim to like you." He turned to walk away. "I am so sorry. I won't bother you again. Unless it's, like, case related or anything."

Puck laughed, grabbing his arm and turning him around to face him. "Dinner Sunday?"

A wide smile come over Blaine's face, his blush softening on his cheeks into something that could be called a natural glow. "Great. Perfect. Sounds perfect."

Puck smiled back, wanting so very much to ignore the pounding of his heart against his rib cage. "I'll call you to set it up." Puck pat the pocket with Blaine's business card, enjoying the smile and blush way too much to be considered normal as Blaine nodded, thanked him, and turned away to find his car.

He couldn't help staring after him as he went, noticing the way that his pants hung on his hips and the way his jacket fit him perfectly, and the way his ass looked and...

The vibrating of his phone brought Puck back to reality with a sharp tug.

_Get home. Or he gets hurt._

Puck's face flushed for a moment, glancing up and staring as Blaine sat down in his car across the street, his body twisting backwards to put his briefcase in the backseat. He didn't want to risk it.

Puck sat back in the drivers seat of his car, turning on the engine and flicking on his turn signal to turn back out onto the road.

Only traffic was horrible and wasn't allowing him to do anything besides sit idle for two minutes straight.

His phone vibrated.

_Get home. Now._

Puck looked over at Blaine, noticing how the ADA was sitting in his car, the vehicle not running and his phone pressed to his ear as he shrugged out of his suit jacket, throwing the piece of clothing onto the seat beside him.

His phone vibrated again.

_Ten seconds to pull out._

He saw his chance, and he began to ease out, waving a wordless thank you to the driver who let him turn. Puck let out a relieved sigh, pushing back the urge to let his head collapse onto his folded arms and keeping up with the flow of traffic.

A car behind him beeped and, on instinct, Puck glanced out the rear view mirror, slamming on his breaks.

It was as though it happened in slow motion.

The car wasn't even moving.

It was stationary.

Blaine had just reached over to turn on the ignition of his car.

And then out of nowhere a black sedan was slamming into the side.

Glass pressed in on the right side, the passenger side door caved in from the impact. Blaine was lucky he had just put his seat belt on.

Puck didn't see what happened to him physically but he could easily have guessed. His head probably slammed against either the window or the steering wheel. Either way by the time the smoke had cleared it was obvious that he was not awake.

The car behind him beeped loudly for him to move but Puck threw his car into park, grabbed his keys, and was sprinting over to the car.

His pulled out his phone to call 9-1-1, ignoring logic that there were probably plenty of other people calling the very same number already. A crowd was forming around the accident site, people screaming, news casters rapidly giving a report on what had just happened, no doubt showing replay footage at a faster rate than the internet picked up clips from television shows. The smoke was literally _heard_ and not just seen. It could be heard as it poured out of the cars. If Blaine had been one second quicker...

His phone vibrated in his hand, alerting him to a new text message half-way through his conversation with the 9-1-1 operator. He flipped it open, silently thanking whoever it was that invented the possibility of texting and talking at the same time.

He dropped his phone in shock and stopped running, all breath pulling itself from his lungs. His eyes were wide, staring down at the words in bold faced type on his phone's screen, the operator's voice asking him if he was okay.

_Too late._

* * *

**A: N –** UNTIL TOMORROW/LATER TODAY DEARIES!


	4. Chapter 4

Point of Origin

By: RavenHeart101

Disclaimer: By putting that word here I am disclaiming ownership of anything Glee related. Besides what I've bought. Cuz, you know, if I owned the show, Plaine would be canon.

Summary: Puck's been waiting for that big case for ages. Only now that he's got it, it may turn out to be more than he expected when he must confront murderers, thieves, and a corrupt District Attorney while balancing a romance with her very attractive ADA, Blaine Anderson.

A:N – Yeah. It took so long for me to get this chapter up. I would apologize but... yeah.

* * *

"Back up!" The police yelled at the gathering crowd, strict and professional for the moment since they did not know who had been in the accident. Not yet. They weren't allowed close enough by the paramedics just yet. The same paramedics that were keeping them as far away as was possible because if they knew things would go crazy. Puck was already going crazy.

The paramedics had tried to push him away from the scene for a while, until they realized that there was no where that he could go without possibly causing more damage than was necessary. And that was why Puck was crouched beside the drivers side door, his hands holding Blaine's neck as straight as he could, like all the cautionary tales told him to. There wasn't as much blood as Puck had expected, but there was still plenty more than he wanted. It was the closed eyes and unresponsive behavior and shallow breathing that were worrying him the most, though. "Wake up, wake up." Puck muttered, shifting into a more comfortable position, his legs trying not to crumple underneath the weight that was placed on them. "Come on." He encouraged, pressing his hands tighter, reveling in the small, steady, and strong enough beat of a pulse under his finger tips.

He let out a relieved sigh, letting his shoulders slump forward some and his forehead fall against the leather of the drivers seat. His eyes flicked open and surveyed the crowd surrounding the scene. News anchors were reporting, people were snapping pictures or talking rapidly on their phones, the paramedics were rushing to work on both Blaine and the person who had driven into him. And there, right at the steps of the court house, was the District Attorney Shelby Corcoran with her arms crossed over her chest and a very agitated Detective Anderson standing in front of her. He was saying something, yelling really, that much was obvious. He looked downright hysterical and Puck took a moment to consider that he may actually know what it was his brother in this car. That it was his brother that Puck was holding on to.

That it was his brother who was unfairly targeted...

"Damn it." The paramedic opposite him cursed, wiping a shaking hand across his sweat covered brow and narrowing his eyes in concentration as he tried to fit the brace around Blaine's neck only for it to fall onto the car's floor again. Puck never remembered it taking so long to put on a neck brace. It must be the guy's first day on the job or something. "Still no reaction?" The paramedic asked him with a small tremble to his voice.

"No." Puck shifted once more, murmuring a swear under his breath when his leg muscle began to shake against the exertion. He had been kneeling here for, what, half an hour? Maybe longer? And there was only so much the paramedics could do without hurting Blaine farther. The entire right side of the car was smashed in, curled in on itself and the front of the car had collapsed a bit. With Blaine unresponsive it was impossible to know if anything was broken or not. "Not yet."

"_Shit_." The paramedic cursed again, sliding out of the car easily enough and pushing Puck's shoulder a bit to kneel down beside him, his eyes drawing down to where Blaine's legs were under the steering wheel and the gash on his forehead. "Hey- hey Blaine? Can you hear me, bud?" Puck looked at him for a moment, his eyes betraying his look of confusion as the blonde paramedic hit Blaine's cheek lightly and kept talking as though Blaine could hear him. "I'm going to get a bed over here for you, okay? And we're going to move you over onto it and check you out. It'll be okay, I promise."

He was signaling behind him for something and another paramedic – a female this time – slid into the backseat of the car and placed the neck brace over Puck's steady hands, nodding at him when it was okay to move them out of the way. Blaine's eyelashes fluttered against his cheek and Puck held his breath. A hand pushed him backwards and Puck had to stand up – nearly falling over in the process. His legs were as close to jelly as they could get, floundering underneath his weight for a moment before settling out. His eyes drew up towards Shelby Corcoran and Anderson, the detective's hands waving in front of him as he spoke in a harsh whisper to the District Attorney. The brown haired woman said nothing in response, nodding towards the car and a look in her eyes daring Anderson to do something. But he shook his head, his lips moving in a definitive way that Puck was pretty sure meant "screw you" before he took off in a jog down the stairs of the court house and through the crowd. Puck lost sight of him for a moment, his attention being stolen by a tiny groan and the blonde paramedic's huff of victory and relief.

"It's okay, bud, we got you." He smoothed back Blaine's hair. Puck blinked because that was such an intimate moment... and Blaine had told him earlier that day that he didn't have a boyfriend. Maybe this guy was an ex?

Of course, the guy had just been in a pretty bad accident and all Puck could think about was whether he had lied to him about being single or not. He didn't have a one track brain at all.

"Sterling!" Detective Anderson pushed through the crowd, finally, running over to the paramedic's side, his eyes frantic and worrying and Puck had to hide back the scowl that crossed over his face. Something nagged at him, something that he couldn't exactly place. "How is he?"

"Stay back, Cooper." And the blonde paramedic – Sterling it seemed – pushed against Anderson's chest, nodding at the others as they began to lift Blaine out of the crumpled car.

"How is he?" Anderson tried again.

"He's alive." Sterling reassured, his hand on Anderson's chest and keeping him in place as the other paramedics rushed to check his vitals and figure out the injuries, one of them yelling out that they needed to get him to the hospital.

"He has a previous head injury."

"I know."

"I'm coming with you." Anderson walked at a fast pace after the stretcher and the crowd of paramedics, Sterling studying him for a moment before nodding slowly and grabbing his arm to guide him through. Camera's flashed and loud news voices called over, asking them who the person in the car was. Puck watched as horrified realization passed over the police officers' faces, one by one their features paling and their eyes widening before snapping back into place.

"Sir?" A young lady tapped his arm, holding out his phone for him. The screen was scratched and his heart picked up speed at the sight of the silver device.

"I believe you dropped this."

"Thanks." He took it with numb fingers, his eyes trailing after the young woman as she walked away, her hips swaying with each step she took. Her lips were painted pink and she looked innocent enough. But Puck couldn't help but wonder who the hell she was. Why the hell she had picked up his phone and returned it to him...

His ringtone startled him out of his thoughts. On instinct his thumb pressed the answer call button, Mike's voice coming out of the receiver louder than was necessary. Puck jumped, turning down the volume of the phone and holding the plastic up to his ear, barking out a hello. "Are you okay? It's all over the news-"

"I'm fine." Puck swallowed passed the lump in his throat at the thought that Blaine was very much not fine and it was very much his fault, whether he wanted to admit it or not. "Do you have something for me, Mike?"

The other line was silent for a moment and Puck had to wonder if he was on speaker because he was pretty sure he could hear Rachel – ever dramatic Rachel – sniffling in the background. "Yeah. I traced the number of the texts."

"Please tell me you have a name."

"I do." Mike sounded oddly proud of himself. "Get this, the phone belongs to a Detective Cooper Anderson-"

Puck's heart leaped into his throat and anger fogged his brain. "Get to Bellevue. Emergency room. Now."

* * *

Rachel and the others were waiting for him at the hospital when he pulled up. He payed no mind to Rachel's gasp at the sight of his blood stained shirt, or to Mike's rattled off questions, or to Santana's grim and frustrated face. He payed not attention to the officers standing around in the waiting room, or to the blonde paramedic, or to the fact that Quinn was pulling up a cop car, being escorted by Detective Rutherford. He didn't pay the guy that Blaine had been at breakfast with any mind either. He had eyes for only one person. And that person was pacing around the waiting room as though his life depended on it.

"_Anderson_!" Puck snapped, a small growl to his voice and the detective in question jumping a bit at the unexpectedness of the private investigator's presence.

Cooper Anderson's eyes were wide and a bit bloodshot, his hands were shaking, his suit shirt was untucked, and he looked, in all senses of the word, like a worried as hell family member. Which, if Puck wasn't so pissed off, he would have believed he was. "Puckerman." Anderson nodded stiffly, standing up to great Puck.

Puck didn't really have rational control over his own body, or maybe he did and he just acted because he was pissed off, but his fist drew back and snapped back forward, hitting Anderson right in the face with a loud clap. The room fell silent and Anderson snapped back up easily enough, a shocked look on his face, but an angry glint to his eyes. He made to reciprocate but Evans was suddenly between the two of them, a stern frown on his face and a warning in his eyes. "What the fuck, Puckerman!" Anderson yelled at him, his hand covering his bleeding lip.

Puck pushed Evans out of the way, ignoring the way Finn tried to grab onto his arm to hold him back, pressing his face right up close to Anderson's. "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?" Anderson pushed against his chest and, okay, he was strong and Puck may have stumbled back quite a bit.  
"You put your own fucking brother in the hospital you piece of shit!" Puck threw his phone at Anderson's head, silently a bit happy that he caught it, his eyes wide and shocked, but anger still shinning in their depths.

"What the hell are you talking about?" His voice was dangerously low, horribly soft, as was the rest of the room.

"Read the messages you sent me, asshole!" Finn grabbed at Puck's arm, pulling him back and pushing him in the corner of the waiting room. "Let me go, Hudson."

"Calm down, dude." Finn pushed against his chest, standing in front of him with that stern police officer look on his face. He really had come far, Puck noted in the back of his mind. For someone who didn't think that he could make it to be anything Finn Hudson had sure proven many people wrong. "You don't want to get thrown out."

And, no, Puck didn't want to get thrown out but he wanted fucking answers. And he wanted them now. He slumped back against the wall, his eyes never leaving Anderson's rapidly paling face as he scrolled through the messages on Puck's phone. The device fell out of his hand after a minute, clanging against the ground and his body falling back into the chair behind him. His shoulders shook in repressed tears and Puck knew a guilty man when he saw one. Anderson was certainly acting guilty...

"What's going on?" He didn't tear his eyes away from Anderson. He didn't recognize the voice but he didn't bother paying it any mind. Someone would answer the guy who had asked. Only the guy was standing directly in front of him, a frown on his face and a very stern look in his eyes and, oh, hello it was the guy Blaine had been having breakfast with before. The guy Rutherford was engaged to...

Puck didn't answer him still because the question wasn't actually being posed to him, it was being posed to Finn. Finn who looked even more lost than anyone else in the room. Finn who knew next to nothing about what was going on besides the fact that Puck had punched Anderson and Blaine was in the hospital and somehow all three incidents were related.

"You got them too..." Anderson said quietly, despair in his voice.

"What do you mean?" Puck snapped, glaring at Finn when he pushed him back against the wall.

"The messages..." Anderson picked his head up, not bothering to wipe at his cheeks, red with tears, and visibly swallowing. "I've been getting them too." He dug his own phone out of his pocket and tossed it over to Puck. "They started weeks ago."  
Puck looked down at the phone in confusion, his finger automatically opening up the message folder. He furrowed his eyebrows at the familiar message format. _Corner of 39__th__. 5pm.  
_

_Back out and she's dead.  
_

_Run.  
_

_Marathon. 10am. Be there or you know the drill.  
_

_Don't test me.  
_

_I know who matters to you most.  
_

_Leaving her doesn't change things, Cooper. Times Square, 12pm.  
_

_If you don't show up he's gone.  
_

Puck's eyes were wide as they slowly raised to meet Anderson's, his jaw slack and his hand starting to shake. Quinn's hand was gentle on his arm and her face held a similar sheen of shock, her blonde hair pooling down her shoulders, Santana's hand gripped tightly in her own. "You too?" She whispered and Puck felt as though he were going to throw up.

"This is some kind of sick game." He looked over at Rutherford's fiance, noting how his pale face was even paler, his own hand gripping his phone tightly. Rutherford was looking down at the device in something a kin to horror.

Puck couldn't take it anymore. With a growl he was pushing out of the emergency room and sprinting towards the exit, his lungs screaming for air and space and freedom. His brain screaming at him to connect the dots because this was making absolutely no sense what so ever and there had to be some connecting point. "Wait!" He skidded to a halt, turning to face Rutherford's fiance, the pale man's eyes wide and a frown stitched across his face. "You have to know what this means."

He thrust his phone at Puck but Puck didn't take it. He didn't want to take it. He wanted off this case. "Go to a detective."

"I'm getting married to a detective. My brother's a detective. I'm going to you." The man pressed again, his voice probably the calmest and yet sharpest thing Puck had ever heard.

"There's nothing I can do."

"That's _crap_." The man's eyes flashed dangerously and Puck momentarily was struck by some thought that this wasn't someone he wanted to piss off. "You were dragged into this. I was dragged into this. Cooper was dragged into this. That blonde girl was dragged into this. But, most of all, Blaine was dragged into this and I am not leaving you alone until you tell me _what the hell_ is going on."

Puck was being selfish again wasn't he? But what kind of person would he be if he wasn't a bit selfish? He wouldn't be himself, that much was for sure. "I don't know what's going on."

"Then figure it out." The man stepped closer to Puck, shoving his phone under Puck's nose. "Because I want to find this guy and punch their face in." Puck blinked at him. He didn't seem like he was the violent type. He seemed as though he were more like Rachel – pacifist through and through, taking the high road in every situation, violence solves nothing Rachel.

"And who are you to tell me what to do?" Puck asked with barely contained aggravation. Because, even if this guy was a bit not like Puck thought he was, he didn't take orders. Especially from random people.

"Kurt Hummel." The man didn't bother offering him a hand to shake, which was a good thing because Puck wouldn't have shook it.

"And why should I do what you want me to?"

"If you want to keep your private investigator's license you will find the guy who attacked my best friend and then take said best friend out on a date like you said you would." How did he know that? How did he know about that? Puck hadn't mentioned anything... But Blaine had. Vaguely he remembered that Blaine had been on the phone with someone before the accident and that was why he hadn't moved his car out onto traffic. "Understood?"

Puck blinked at him, swallowing and nodding a bit, his hand taking Kurt's offered phone and his eyes soaking up the words in front of him. _McDonalds. 52__nd__. 7pm.  
_

"So what now?" Kurt asked him hesitantly, all venom seemingly disappearing from his voice when it was clear Puck was going to work with him.

Puck shook his head as an answer, pushing his way back into the waiting room and grabbing Quinn's arm, nodding at Anderson to follow him. He pulled his blonde friend into the hallway, staring her in the eye and making sure his expression stayed stern and serious. "You've been getting these too?"

"For over three months." Quinn nodded in an affirmative, her lips set in a thin line.

"They threatened you with Beth?"

"And Santana."

"This has to do with the case you were working on?"

"Yes."

"Tell me everything."

"It's a long story."

Puck traded looks with Anderson and Kurt, his face in a grim line and his expression mirrored in the faces of the other two – though Anderson's eyes did hold more worry than his did, but that was to be expected. "We have until seven."

* * *

**A: N –** Yaaay chapter 4! Chapter five will be up probably – hopefully – this weekend. If not then next thursday or friday since the school year is waning down and I have no school those days.


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